


Sinners

by Signator34



Category: The Waltons (TV)
Genre: M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signator34/pseuds/Signator34
Summary: Hadn't the girls told him it always hurt a bit- losing your virginity in the back of an old pickup truck?
Relationships: Jason Walton/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first fic. I always felt Jason's chemistry with female love interests fell a bit flat, but his connection with some of the men he met seemed very strong. It's been a little while since I watched The Waltons, so forgive any incorrect details. I made up George to be a kind of versatile character that didn't have to conform to the plot of the show. Anyway, here is the obligatory 'no one else was going to write it so I had to' fic. Though it kind of got away from me in the end there. Enjoy!

He was a sinner.

Jason Walton knew all about sinning. He'd been taught in Sunday school and at church, by his folks, his grandparents and even his siblings to recognize right and wrong. He'd tried his best to walk the path they'd shown him and for the most part it had been easy.

It had been easy save his late night secrets; so foreign to a family where emotional and spiritual love came before all else. They were forays born of true hellfire and the terror of a fire and brimstone preacher denouncing in their front yard the sins of the flesh and the wickedness of bodies coming together in lust. Jason had been mortified by the hatred and wrath in the preacher's eyes, yet here he was all the same. He spent his nights in a bar full of folks drinking, smoking, playing cards. He played songs that encouraged them to drink more, stay longer, but those were their sins and this was his.

Somehow that tirade had converted him into a future slave to the feeling of pleasure singing in his chest: a harmonica sharp, slow drawl- a sweet ache. He threw back his head, giving his partner better access to his neck. Old Reverend Fordwick would just about burst into flames, Jason mused, if he could see the way Jason was squirming, clutching tighter as the pleasure mounted.

He hadn't been old enough to make up his mind about the preacher's words at the time. Hell, he'd never been able to reason his way in and out of things the way John-Boy did. To Jason, philosophy was like the tool box digging into his back as he shifted: uncomfortable and best avoided. All the same, he'd been old enough to recognize the kind of temptation Fordwick was talking about. He'd thought of kissing girls in pretty cotton dresses and watching them blush as they batted their eyelashes. He'd lain in the grass with Seth and imagined who each of them might marry.

Maybe he'd been just old enough to see the allure of doing something wrong, just young enough to believe the preacher's words and that's why he still got a filthy thrill out of being this close to someone else. Because the girls at the Dew Drop didn’t wear cotton dresses and he never took any of them home. His brothers went with girls, but all Jason shared were glasses of whiskey with women his mama wouldn't like and his pa would grin and warn him about.

There'd be no grinnin' about the way he was sinning now.

There were teeth on his pulse point, hot breath in his ear as a hand traced up his thigh, coming perilously close to the fly of his jeans. He grabbed two handfuls of firm ass and pulled until they were close enough to get all the friction they could just rocking into each other. It was a hard thing to be thrilled terrified and crazy with heat at the same time, but Jason reckoned he was pulling it off. Here they were, out by the lake in the bed of George's old pickup, half forgotten bottle of whiskey by his knee, moon out over the water. He was drunk on the combination of sin and grace; aflame with hellfire and headed for heaven.

"You're shakin' darlin'. " There was a flash of concern in those hazel eyes before Jason was reeled in for another kiss.

"Don’t worry, I've got ya."

"You sure have." And there was his anticipation mirrored back at him as George went for Jason's belt buckle and one of those good, upstanding Walton kids laid there watching him, wanting and finally- exposed to the warm night air.

He must have seen the confusion in Jason's eyes when he coated his fingers in Vaseline instead of disrobing himself. George smiled like the devil in the moonlight.

"Let me loosen you up, darlin', It'll be less painful, besides- no sense rushing on such a lovely night."

When he bent and licked a long strip up Jason's erection the musician nearly screamed. When he slid his mouth down over it and a finger into his pale, freckled lover, the whimper echoed around them in the woods.

George took his time, his tongue honey slow and sweet as it was when he spoke. His fingers were careful, but insistent. Jason floated through the pleasure and the pain, pushing away the pious mortification. He took a few breaths and let himself think on their meeting at the Dew Drop; the first time George had pushed him up against the wall in his ancestral cabin and thoroughly debauched him.

"Oh!" A spike of pain and pleasure, well calculated had him turning his head, wondering if George had pictured things just like this when they'd planned their rendezvous. Had he eagerly charted how he would take Jason apart or was he simply going where passion led him? A part of Jason still shrank away from the knowledge that this was something they had discussed by the light of day as though it weren't a crime in the eyes of the law and the Lord. He couldn't help, but feel beyond violated as those fingers probed deeper; cheeks hot from either embarrassent, nervousness or the shock of being breached he didn't know. If he couldn't live with himself tomorrow he could never take this back.

"You alright?" 

A pause, "Tell me if you need to stop Jason."

But he wanted this. Jason swallowed and let his hands roam George's tanned skin, gasping out the faintest words.

"Keep going." Because Jason wanted to break all of those laws, unrepentant on a perfect summer's night with this gorgeous, generous man. He wanted to see just how fun sinning could be. The thrill of it ran through him again as George kissed him long and deep and slow, fingers still working in him. He wanted beyond just to participate; he wanted someone to claim them as theirs: to seek their pleasure through his body again and again. The thought made him giddy and nauseous with the fear of what that said about him. 

"Stay here with me," George's eyes were beautiful: yellow blue fire in the moonlight, half lidded and entirely focused on Jason. Adoration lit his face as if to him, this was the only true religion and their act the only way to pray. 

"Are you ready?" 

The awkward pain had become muted pleasure, but not quite enough. Jason shifted to test the stretch, nodded and let himself be captivated by those eyes as George gave him another hungry kiss and nudged him into turning over.

"Oh, God" Another sin: blasphemies falling easily from his tongue as George rocked into him and the pickup's springs creaked in counterpoint. It hurt, but hadn't the girls at the bar told him it always hurt a bit at first, losing your virginity in the back of a pickup truck out in the woods?

"How are you, darlin'?"

"Damned and gone to heaven," Jason's voice was shaking, his forearms were shaking under his weight. His breath hitched and his sounds came in little hiccups. George pressed his nose to the nape of Jason's neck. A cicada sang it's trilling song somewhere in the trees. 

"You're gorgeous." 

There were lips like tongues of flame trailing down over his shoulders and then his back. The breeze cooled their trail, raising goosebumps and delicious little twitches. Jason grunted; tried to fall into rhythm with the other man.

"Just relax." There was a hand stroking him back to hardness as he let himself still and yield to the way the thrusts were rocking his body. Another hand ran up his hip. There were a series of sharp, strained noises, but he wasn't really sure whose they were. 

The toolbox was digging into his thigh now. It was painful, intrusive, and much like the act itself was until George began making the most beautiful keening noises for him; stirring the fire in Jason's gut. He adjusted his stance to get Jason away from the offending metal case and the angle changed just slightly. 

Jason may have screamed into the night air again at the wash of tingling pleasure. His toes curled bare against the truck bed and George's grip on him tightened to better keep him steady as the man kept thrusting, kept stroking. Jason was rolling his hips back to meet him now; gasping in air and hissing it out between his teeth as the sensation spread through his veins and sang in his blood. 

He seemed to be singing his own song. A litany of pants, groans and George's name falling from his lips. It was exquisite. It was exactly the kind of fun everyone was afraid and shocked they might be having. Even better as George bit at his neck again and twisted his wrist on each sloppy stroke. 

"M' close." He mumbled into Jason's skin and possibly into his soul. 

"I'm gonna' try to bring you with me." 

His hand moved more quickly, but he was falling out of time with his own hips as he chased his pleasure.

"Take me with you." Jason repeated dumbly, barely managing to process the words as his orgasm lit up every inch of skin. Heaven, hell, Paris; he would have let George take him anywhere in that moment. George's hand on his hip was firebrand hot, unrelenting. The organ thrusting into him equally so as George shifted and his cock lined up just right again, only harder and deeper. Jason's elbows buckled with the force of it. Whispering his partner's name like a prayer from the pit he spent himself on the ever offending tool box.

George was still after his own release, pistoning his hips and making Jason mewl at the overstimulation. 

"Jason!" Was a whisper amidst the sweet torture as George grunted, pressed flush along Jason's back and went taught. 

They stayed that way a moment, reeling, before George withdrew; retreating as for as he could in the narrow truck bow and looking away into the darkness. Jason wiped at his forehead, tryin to catch his breath. He was sore, a bit uncomfortable at the feeling of semen and lubricant coating his insides, but found himself calm in the face of what they'd done. Moving to sit, then thinking better of it, he rolled onto his side. There was a grease on his knees, a red spot on his hip. He'd been marked inside and out.

It was perfect. Sudden giddiness pushed him to roll onto his back and relish the burning pain. George started at his sigh. 

"Do you feel ok?" 

Jason wiggled his toes. 

"I feel filthy," He grinned. George seemed to relax minutely. 

"What's wrong?"

George rolled closer. Facing Jason, mere inches apart, the relief was clear on his face.

"It's not that there have been a lot of men." He began, quietly. "But sometimes when we're finished they're different and they're angry." His pupils were still blown wide, but his eyes were sad. 

"They suddenly feel like I've tricked them, because they're scared of what they've done." 

Jason went to apologize, but settled for kissing the other man as passionately as he could with his limited experience.

"You just gave me something remarkable." He murmured gently. "Something I could never regret."

As George sagged into his arms, Jason leaned in to kiss him again.

"Even if you are the devil." 

He looked for sensitive spots on the other man's neck as George spluttered, indignant. "Why would you say such a thing?" 

His accent was just as charming with façade of distress. 

"Because," Jason cooed. "You tempt me beyond imagining." 

"Mmm?" Came the pleased reply. 

"And you make me want to sin again and again." 

Fin. 


End file.
